Far from the Moon and the Sun
by frostwarlock
Summary: A young girl finds herself deep in Asgard and invisible with a puzzling case of amnesia, but Loki seems to know more about it than he lets on. Could this strange tale full of dark humor and necromancy make blossom a friendship between two cynical brats? Probably not, but it definitely shoves them both into an awkward comradery. Rated M for strong language.
1. Shed my mortal what

I found myself in a strange white place. The light was blinding and when I tried to lift myself, I found I couldn't find the strength to counter the weight I felt pressing in on me from all sides. The only solidity was the level surface that I lay on as I stare at the white light above and beside me. Nothing existed. I wasn't sure I even occupied a body, much less my own. But I must have, if I had eyes to see this space.

I felt myself slipping, then, and I was slowly growing aware of the pins and needles that tingled annoyingly at my fingertips. I was awake, I realized, and snapped my eyes open, but closed them seconds later when light not unlike the white space blared at my unfocused eyes. I raised my arm and lay it over my face. When I peaked over my arm, I was staring at the sky. It was blue and vast, white stretches of clouds stalled in the air miles and miles above me. The building surrounding me was huge and could be marble or stone, with impressive pillars carved as far as I could make them out. It seemed I was in something of a courtyard, The patch of grass and sky was just a stylized break. I could see several stories, high into what looked to be spyres, and I could just make out colorful flags flapping gently on towers far above. It was indeed a beautiful work of architecture, but strangely, it seemed... new. unlike the cool old temples they dig up, this huge beautiful rock castle seemed recently built.

I stepped out of the warm glow of the sunlight on the grass and turned down the stone archway to my right, deciding to enter a sidedoor. I stepped into the room and was instantly awestruck. The ceiling was a dome of glass that let in the sun, whose light made the huge, colorful tapestries that hung on the walls glitter and shine, their swooping golden designs iridescent in the sunlight. I noticed, in the center of the room, a wide stand made of gnarled wood stood upright and scooped low in the center; A basin that was currently empty. I turned about, glancing quickly at the golden tapestries, then went into a doorway. It led to a stair, which i begrudgingly trod up, headache thrumming, and came up to the second story. I could see my courtyard from here. I glanced at it quickly then turned to another hallway.

And the people here all bustle normally, many of them I assume are servants, and they work busily. There are guards standing in the doorways to the inner castle, with gilded armor, and light glinting off their huge lethal spears that look more like harpoons. Though none seem to notice me at all. In fact, no one has even glanced at me, which I prefer they didn't anyways, but it is strange. I mean, an obvious foreigner just waltzing into and about the castle? Also, I've noticed I'm not wearing shoes. I'm wearing socks around a palace and I don't know why, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it.

Anyways. The rooms are getting more sparse the further in I move, with large, heavy doors on them, instead of just empty doorways. I'm sure that I'm deep in the heart of the palace now. It seems to radiate a certain warmth, like people could actually live within its stone walls.

Hours later, I shamble up to my feet. Rubbing my eyes, I start down the narrow hall way. The only room is blocked by a tall, reasonably sized oak doorway that, upon further inspection, is carved with a craftsmanship I've never seen the like of. It depicts an old willow stretching along the side of the door, its arms swooping around the top and bending, meeting the other side with drooping leaves. I move to touch it. I waited for the palm of my hand to rest upon the doors uneven surface, but it never did. It went THROUGH the surface with a slight chill racing up my arm. I snatched it back out, my heart racing and my stomach suddenly turned to ice. Did I just... go through a door?

I regained myself, then shut my eyes, holding my arm out in front of me and stepped through the door. A chill pooled down my body, making me shudder and my teeth clatter. I could physically feel the sides of the door around my frame, like its very matter had spread out around me. I shivered at the memory of ice on my body.

I took a breath and let it out, turning around the room. It was reasonably sized; a bedroom, by the looks of it. A big, old leather-bound book with scrappy bookmarks filling it, making it appear to be twice its thickness lay on a skinny wood table with wispy, bending legs ending in clawed feet that stood upon sharp talons. On the books pages was the same language of the rest of the literature here, and it was illustrated with a picture of a strange, hollow creature that crept on all fours under a night sky. The small table stood beside the twin sized bed who's headboards carvings was a close mimic of the doors'.

Like on the door, big swooping willows stood to the sides of the headboard, overlooking a grass plain, where a man was depicted pointing up to the sky. It was amazing how someone could actually carve the night sky. The stars, hundreds of them, all different. Some specks far away, some close and brilliant. constellations and no moon in sight. I was taken away by the scene on some headboard in a castle in god knows where. but it seemed to capture the essence of this place, the feeling that caught me when I gazed at the long, silvery tapestries.

I was so busy gaping that I hadn't noticed the door swinging open, and the quiet footsteps that stood before me.

"Oh. Hello", a thin voice said, sounding surprised.

A strangled sort of shocked noise shot from my throat and I straightened myself, head racing with explanations. He can see me, this dude can see me when no one else can!

"Oh man, I'm sorry! I'm a bit lost, I must've taken a wrong turn". I try to smile but grimace instead and inch towards the door.

"Not so fast". I turn slowly to face him, looking up. He's tall, seemingly lithe, and holds himself with a proud stature. A long, menacing crossbow is loosely held in his leather gloves. A dark green tunic is shadowed by a black overcoat that swishes as he crosses the room to toss some arrows on the bed. Heavy black boots clomp as he calmly turns to face me, small features completely serene despite the presence of an unwelcome guest.

"It actually worked" he murmurs. His green eyes are locked on me and he seems a bit lost in thought. I don't know what he's talking about, and I don't comment, only stare longingly at the door. I suppose he has the leverage here, as this could be considered B&E. Depends on if breezing through a locked door is considered breaking. He approaches me, and I step back a fraction. His emerald gaze narrows and he leans down to my level, hands clasped behind his back. He's inches away now, his gaze sharp gaze unwavering, pointed nose sticking a bit too far into my personal space. I don't think I could have the nerve to bullshit with such a disarming gaze aimed at me. I look to the ground and lean back a bit, trying to keep the icy feeling in my stomach at bay.

"Look at me" that thin voice said calmly. I said 'hm?' and turned slightly, glancing at his face. I held a dying hope that I would come off as innocent, but when my gaze brushed by his locked stare, I suspected that he knew I wasn't as normal as I feigned.

"Look at me" he said again with more conviction. I awkwardly balled my skinny fingers into fists at my sides, then let them loose, wincing at his hardened tone. This felt like torture, and it may as well have been. Confrontation is a horrid thing. Looking people in the eyes is worse. He moved then, and I felt a bony grasp tugging at my jaw, lifting my head to face him directly.

"Hey!". I was stunned into stillness when a second hand grasped the other side of my face and held me in place, my cheeks slightly mushed. His gloves where rough on my skin, and the thick scent of leather spun my head . He was so close that I could see strands of his slicked back ebony hair that had fallen out of place.

I stopped writhing and snapped my forest green eyes up to him, countering his stare with an icy gaze of my own.

"Hey uh" I let out a distressed sigh, gently nudging his wrists, suggesting that they get off me.

"I just let myself in here, that was pretty rude and I'm sorry. I'm just a bit lost, but I have somewhere to be pretty soon here, so" I reasoned calmly, but felt panic rising, unused rush of adrenaline making my stomach sick.

"I don't think so" he assessed calmly, swinging his arms to his sides and stepping back from me. It dawned on me that he knew the truth about me and my ability.

"How can you see me" I said in a flat tone, deciding to drop the pretenses. He smirked and turned to the bed, loosening the fingers of his gloves and tossing them on the spread, his voice pleasant.

"Because I'm the one that summoned you, I suppose, if the spell really worked".

I stood awkwardly at the center of the room.

"summoned" I prompted tentatively, unsure of what to say in front of someone who was so good looking and poised and had just grabbed my face moments ago, and on top of that, was the only person in a castle full of people who could see me. He ignored me and went on to shrug off his long coat, folding it neatly on the bed with his crossbow and gloves. Hunting gear, I gather. He smoothed the green and silver tunic with thin fingers, then turned to the book. He flipped a page back, paused a moment, then flipped it forward again. His dark eyebrows creased in concentration, and he stroked his sharp chin. I saw this as a god given opportunity, the opportunity being his head turned the other way, to side step out of here. I decided I didn't want to be involved in this. Whatever it was. I've changed my mind. I was only feet away, and I readied myself to feel the icy chill of passing through the door.

But I never got through. Without so much as turning from the book, he reached his arm slightly in my direction and flicked his wrist. The invisible force that hit me was overwhelming, it felt as though a forceful m,m,wind as it swept me off the ground and threw me at the ground. I arched my back at the pain that should have been blinding. But there was no pain, no thud.

I blinked and sat there on the floor, gaping at him with an incredulous stare.

"How did you… do that" I slowly croaked. He ignored me again, absorbed in the book.

"Excuse me". Silence.

"HEY". Nothing.

"what the hell". I sat there, simmering for a few minutes. He finally glanced up from the book, but didn't face me,

"Oh. You're still here". My face fell and an unpleasant heat crawled up my neck, making my skin prickle. I was silent for a moment.

"yeah, unfortunately". He smirked a bit, then snaked his hands to the underside of the book, shutting it with a heavy 'boom'.

"You're Midgardian, then, I'll take from your clothing and uncouth speech patterns" he leans on the table and examines me. Midwhat? I stand and open my mouth, then close it.

"what?" I fumble for words, struggling to find my feet as I stand.

"where did you hail from, then, Midgardian?". Where am I from. Where AM I from. It's something I should know, such a simple question. But nothing comes to mind. It's almost as if I've forgotten. I strain to remember where I was before the white space I woke in, but nothing is there. Amnesia then? I breathe and shrug, at a loss for much else.

"Hm. You remember nothing?" he somehow deduces,

"Interesting". I purse my lips and hug my arms.

"Not even how you came to shed your mortal coil?"

Shed my mortal WHAT


	2. What's this guys deal

I was still confused and sputtering when he rolled his eyes and promptly sat on the side of the bed, beginning to pull at his heavy black boots.

"To be honest, I didn't think it would even work, but here you are". He set the boots gently on the side of the bed and turned to me.

"I suppose I am a more skilled sorcerer than I thought". So he's a sorcerer. Considering the things I've seen today, I'm not surprised by this. I lean against the wall and we eye each other from our spots in the room, both squinting with green eyes.

"What did you mean by 'shed my mortal coil'?" I prompted. A brief look of surprise swept over his face, then dissipated quickly.

He shot out a thin laughter and widened his eyes in an unsettling way. He lean forward,

"You have no idea, do you" he laughed again, not because it was funny, I suspected, but because it was at my expense. I would rather not know what he's talking about if he keeps carrying on this way. He let out a long 'hmmm' when he was done chuckling to himself, and just looked at me. I waited for my question to be answered, and wondered if he'd forgotten that I did, in fact, ask him a question. He sighed and briskly stood in a quick motion, motioning for me to come.

"Come. Look here" he stood before the book, which was turned to the page with the strange creature under a night sky.

I shuffled forward, hugging my arms and leaning over the book.

"I can't read that".

"I know, mortal, just listen for one moment". He sighed, flipped the page back, scanned it briskly, then turned it forward again like he did earlier.

"Here we are. Alright. A mortal spirit is stripped of any destined afterlife when it is summoned by necromantic forces, whether they be sinister or benign. Only a high mage is permitted to conduct such a great act of sorcery, and should tread carefully, as spiritual necromancy can have disastrous effects should one go about it wrong, ahh. That's about it" he doesn't finish the page.

"Is that all it says?" I said, staring doubtfuly at the stark page. Something doesn't add up. He summoned me,a human, instead of a spirit. He smirks briskly, which looks like a sneer, then smooths his tunic and steps towards the door.

"I'm to the great hall, as it's half past seven and dinner already. I could stay and attempt to explain things to the complete dolt that is yourself all evening, night, and possibly the rest of my life, or I could get on with things" He swings open the door, then pauses,

"Don't leave this room". I scoff as he abruptly shuts the door.

As it turns out, and as this magical book really should have mentioned, this high mage person seems to have some sort of power over this poor spirit. I know this because I have tried spiriting through that door at least twenty times, and the attempts all end with a dull 'thud' that is my noggin conking against the wood. I thought that door was the most beautiful thing just hours ago, and now I want to burn it to charcoal. The window is blocked as well. It's as if the empty stone has armored itself in invisible glass that won't break no matter how hard I punch or throw myself at it.

He'd been gone for hours, too long to simply be at dinner, but maybe he eats more than I gave him credit for. By this time, I've exhausted my resources. I've looking under the bed; Nothing is under there. I've looked in the tall wardrobe and on top of it, nothing important. The door creaked suddenly, and I perked. A big man with scraggly blond hair and dark scruff poked his head in and scanned the room with eyes the hue of a fair summer sky.

"Loki?" he said stupidly.

"Loki?", I said back in equal stupidity. Whatever a Loki is. It struck me that the door was open, and I stumbled to my feet, stretching out my hand, mouth slightly agape.

"WAIT" I yell a bit too forcefully, wincing at my own plea that sounded more like a battle cry. There was no need, though, he didn't hear me, and he shuts the door, mumbling.

"he must be somewhere around here". I growl and fall back on the stone wall, which I'm not currently falling through because of his spell. The 'Don't leave this room' spell. I close my eyes and rest my head on my knees, my unruly mess of black falling over my shoulders and face.

So let's recount this story, I thought calmly. A sorcerer, who is an obvious amateur, royally fucked a spiritual necromantic spell and summoned a human instead, inflicting amnesia upon me, who is being controlled by this rude fool. I have no expertise on these matters. I have no advice or game plan to offer myself. I got nothing except my ability to go through solid surfaces, which I'm currently being denied.

It's kind of a disappointment, though. You'd have thought sorcery and weird places would be really neat, but this just ends up being complicated and over my head. I bury my head in my hands and close my eyes, exhausted. I'm grateful when I feel myself drifting away, all worries slipping from my concern, and darkness pulls me.

A throbbing ache in my back makes itself apparent before anything else. I open my eyes and blink, my vision blurry and unfocused. I'm laying on my side, I must have slumped down as I slept, and he's back from dinner. He's sitting on the bed with perfect posture and paging through a small book, legs crossed.

"Nice slumber?" he murmurs quietly and licks his finger before turning a page.

I sit upright as efficiently as I can, which isn't very, and pause as a wooziness spins my brain. I squint at him, trying to focus, but it's no use. He's just a blur of black hair and green clothes. Which, if I'm not mistaken, have been changed since last time I saw him. Instead of the green and silver tunic with black pants, he dons a breezy green silk blouse looking thing. His pants match, and he's barefoot.

"cute" I groan through my back pain and stiff neck. He peers up for a fraction of a second,

"Hm?"

"Your matching PJs, very … quaint". He raises his eyebrows at me, then goes back to reading,

"Not so quaint as your sleeping arrangements" he murmurs.

I scoot myself up and roll my neck side to side.

"So. Uh. About this necromantic ordeal. I don't think I fit the bill for it, really". He glances up.

"Oh?"

"Yeah" I pause, installing importance in what I'm about to say next,

"You where attempting to summon a spirit, right? From the spell in the book. But you must've screwed it, or something because I'm not a spirit, I'm alive and kicking. I mean, I can like… go through walls and I'm invisible, but there's gotta be a separate reason for that stuff". He listens, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

"Is that your final reasoning?".

"Yeah".

"Then you are twice wrong, human. First, in blatantly assuming that I incorrectly cast this spell, and second" he snaps the book closed,

"In assuming that you are not in fact spirit".

I stare at him, and a shadow looms in the back of my mind. "But I'm not" I stammer, frowning. He rolls his sharp eyes

"You saw the book, the creature. You saw how my magic controls you. Have you failed to notice how I alone can see and physically touch you? The spell summons spirit alone, and the fact that you are sitting here right now means that-"

"But you think I'm dead!" I cry incredulously.

"I think only the truth, human" his thin upper lip flickers into a sneer at the interruption.

"You can't just decide this" my eyes are wide and I flail my hands about

"Just because I don't remember, doesn't mean that I'm some lost spirit. It's your butch job of a spell that gave me amnesia. I have a family, a life, maybe even a home, and you just ripped me away from all of them because you've been toying with magic you don't understand. I got news for you", I growl the last words, "You're a joke, you're a jester with a god complex, and honestly you're in over your head with this necromancy shtick".


	3. Bet Houdini couldn't do this

His green eyes instantly snap up to me, widening in an that offsetting way.

"Really, mortal? You think me a fool?". He was staring at me now in a way that suggested I choose my words very wisely. I narrowed my eyes at him and sucked a breath in.

"You dug up a book containing magic you don't understand, you used spiritual necromancy, but summoned a human instead, and you're not taking responsibility, and you call yourself a sorcerer. So no, I don't exactly think you're a jester, I take that back. I think you're just a dumb kid who is a control freak" I seem to deflate when I finish, and a flush is working its way up my neck, blotching my cheeks in an ugly red.

I'm still glaring at him when his pale lips twist and form a horrible sneer, eyes narrowed down at me.

"That's it then? You make a deduction based on your minuscule experience of this situation? Try to assess me with the information you've picked up in the tiny scrap of time wherein you've known me? It seems to me that you're the jester, girl. You are the fool here". He stands perfectly still as he says this, with only a scowl to hint at his mood. Other than that, he is perfectly serene as he tries to turn this around on me,

"A fool, because you refuse to acknowledge my powers of sorcery, claiming that I am a fraud" I open my mouth to interrupt and ensure him that he indeed is a fraud, but he cuts me off.

"And a fool because you refuse to acknowledge that you're corpse is decaying and rotting on Earth as we speak". I had a retort worked up until that last part. I close my mouth, and the clouds of anger lift from my face, leaving unguarded surprise.

"You don't know that". His sneer sullies his face further, and he rolls his eyes, turning away from me.

"I know far more than you, mortal, though that isn't saying much". He steps elegantly into simple slippers and shrugs on a black overshirt, then heads towards the door. I want to tell him to wait, and ask him not to leave me trapped in here again. But I'm too stubborn, and I just stand there.

He stops in front of the door, and I wait for him to say the confining words, but there's just silence. Then,

"Are you coming?". Coming? Coming where? I waver a bit where I stand, then take a step forward.

"Where".

"To find the truth, if you still want it. Come on already". He turns and breezes out the door, with me jogging to keep up with his long legged strides. We turn down the narrow stair case and hallway, into the main halls, and so many other corners, turning in so many directions that there's no hope for remembering the way through this place. I'm still walking briskly, but he's five feet ahead of me and I'm not going to run just to keep pace with him.

We're rounding another corner, going past what looks to be an armory, when It occurs to me that there's no spell containing me. And he's looking the other way. I can't believe this didn't occur to me the moment I stepped out of the room. I look this way and that, quickly noticing a small doorway several feet away. I slow my pace down, glance at him, pause for seconds, then turn on my heel and book it for the door. I lunge for it, landing inside the room on my stomach. Scrambling to my feet, I look for any exit in the room. My heart is racing, and I'm sure he hasn't failed to notice the absent cacophony of my labored breathing and heavy footfalls. I run through the wall and ice floods my body. It's not like walking through the door, a small barrier. It's walking through layers of stone wall, and it's slow going and cold. The ice starts ebbing away slowly, and I can feel the matter before me become thinner as I near it. I reach my hand out, and my fingers warm with the air in the room past the wall.

I feel a breeze on the back of my neck. Like wind. That's weird, because walking through a solid barrier is cold, but there's no movement inside it. I feel the cold breeze snake under my sleeves and bleed through my jeans, biting at my ankles. It begins to tug at me, a suggestion to back track. I swing my arms away, and kick my feet, trying to lose it. I take a step towards the room, but a gust of wind snakes around my ankle and yanks, beginning to pull me back, tugging at my clothes and strands of my hair. I slap at it and kick my feet, but it starts to drag me backwards, and I fall to the ground as it pulls me along the ground, sucking me in like a black hole. And he's right at the center.


	4. Update: I'm not Houdini

I'm kicking and yelling as the force drags me by my ankles back through the wall to the room I escaped into. Up the steps into the hall, where he's standing there, waiting.

"Believe it or not, I am actually attempting to aid you" he says dryly. I throw blind punches at the invisible force that's manhandled me and glare up at him from the ground,

"I don't want your aid!" I squawk,

"What am I to you, anyways? How-how do you benefit from keeping me here? Just leave me be and let's be done with this". He waves his hand and the wind blows away down the hall, letting me loose. I quickly sit up right and try to comb through my windswept hair with my fingers.

"Have you any idea the difficulty of necromantic spells?" he says calmly, and of course I have no idea what he's talking about. I'm not listening to him. I'm sitting on the floor glowering at his legs, which I'm currently eye level with.

He continues, pacing leisurely.

"It is quite a feat and, as stated by the book, should really be performed by a professional. The most simple necromantic spell means a minimum of about a months worth of preparing and gathering the ingredients, some being quite unpleasant and hard to obtain. This particular necromancy" he turns about the room, his voice echoing on the walls surrounding us

"Spiritual necromancy, is like regular necromancy. Save for the fact that instead of a solid, organic mass of rotting tissue and stale bones, one is attempting to conjure a spirit. The very soul inside of all that is living, and harness it".

I thought of the creature depicted in the book.

"Now. Think of the preparation I sweat over, the months I endured of sleepless nights deciphering old translations, the precision and exactness I drove myself to achieve, the blood and that has been spilt". Really didn't want to know about that last part.

"And for all my work, what am I rewarded with? What do I reap from months of nothing but labor? A stubborn, argumentative simpleton who refuses reason at every turn".

I slump a little where I sit, a bit reproachful, as I'm sure I've just been insulted.

"Well sorry I'm such a disappointment" I huff sarcastically.

"Glad to know that we see each other as we really are" he leads on, and I follow from a couple yards away.

We turn into a court yard, not unlike the one I turned up in, and step inside a door. It's the observatory, the one with the dome glass ceiling and tapestries lining the walls. He crosses the room to the gnarled wood stand with a smooth depression in the middle. I made a guess earlier that it was a basin.

"A basin?". We're standing on opposite sides of it. "Yes" he says distractedly as he riffles for something in his overcoat, which apparently has inside pockets. He pulls out a tiny silver blade with a rich burgundy handle and tiny rubies encrusted in the middle of the hilt. It looked to be a small, but very lethal, knife. I don't think it could be considered a dagger. This didn't look like something you bluntly stab someone with.

"Give me your hand" he offers his own lithe hand and hovers it directly above the basin.

"Why" I tentatively reach my hand forward, and he grabs it impatiently.

"So I can show you truth". I stand there, eyes bulging as he stabs the needle-fine point deep into the meat of my palm, and carves straight across, a deep, gut wrenching gash blooming in its wake. It begins to pour blood, and I stare at him, horrified. The whites of my eyes gleam under the sun light coming in through the ceiling.

"What the hell".

I try to snatch my mangled hand back from him, but he holds it tight, fingers cruelly digging into the open gash. I try to yank back from him, nearly dislocating my arm. His grasp on my hand doesn't slip, even though blood is soaking both our hands, and running in several little rivers down my arm.

"What are you doing". It comes out at a hoarse whisper as the basin is already pooling in blood.

He lets my hand loose, and I cradle it in my other hand.

"Why'd you _do_ that" I hiss at him through clenched teeth and arms damp with blood. He ignores me and begins twirling his lithe hands above the basin, brushing his fingers through the air. To my surprise, the ruby fluid actually churns, flowing in a smooth, dark whirlpool.

"Look" he says, and I squint at him before peering down into my own blood. Naturally, there was nothing there but red liquid.

"I'm looking, you bastard".

"Look harder". I lower my head down, trying to see what he's talking about and wonder what exactly he's trying to prove. My nose is inches away from the circling blood, when I huff,

"There's nothing he-AHGH" my voice cuts out in a surprised yell as he grabs the back of my neck and pushes my face into the basin.

I flail my arms, throwing wild punches and digging my nails into his bony fingers that are tangled in my hair. My face is still submerged when I accidentally gasp. That was a mistake. I feel the thick, warm fluid flow down my throat and trickle somewhere it's not supposed to. I try to choke it up, and involuntarily gasp again, feeling another rush of blood down my throat.

I'm suffocating. He's drowning me in my own blood.

My body keeps trying to gobble air where there is none, and soon there's a weight in my chest that shouldn't be there. The harsh pinch of his grip fades, and my throat doesn't burn anymore. My mind spins, and nothing exists. Panic, terror, and then... nothing. The pain is gone, its sting evanesced. I blink slowly, but never get my eyes open.

I feel myself falling, the weight of my body that I've upheld all my life is gone. My heart stops racing, and slows to a _thump... thump_ that beats in my ears and is all that exists. I fade.


	5. Et in Arcadia Ego

I'm sucking in cold air like I'll never breath again. It's what woke me. It's what shakes my conscious from the abyss. I try to open my heavy lids, but they refuse and close shut. I try again, dragging my arm up to rub my eyes, a bit too roughly. I'm laying on my stomach, and a damp chill is covering my body all the way to my toes. I shuffle around to lie on my back, and curse as I feel my whole body burn and ache. I let out a long groan and look up. It's the inky sky, vast and powerful, that watches me on a long stretch of an old highway.

I sit up, leaning on my arms, and a putrid scent hits me like a brick. I turned to look around, and saw the source. A piece of metal that used to be a Prius was flipped on its side and it was fuming black smoke from its hood that was badly crunched. Its powder blue doors where dented and pinged. It looked terrible, but hey, you bought a Prius.

I shambled to my feet, dead tired and half asleep. I paced to the front of the totaled car, looking in. No one there. They must be dead. I walked round the car, coming to the back, and stopped dead. I was staring at the spot I had just been lying, but the thing was…I was still lying there, face down and sprawled out with no shoes. I eyed myself for a minute, then slowly padded over.

My other, more unfortunate self, was an unhealthy white and my green eyes where dull and half lidded. My legs where angled in a way that seemed… wrong. There was blood soaking the grass under my head, and sections of my black hair clumped in odd places. A scratch ran down my cheek, and it slowly oozed blood. With wide eyes, I slowly gripped my shoulder and pushed it quickly, not really wanting to touch it.

The smell of dried blood was repugnant, and I turned away too late to miss the deep gouge that was carved into the side of my face. It looked like some sick bastard had taken a hatchet to my head. The skin on the sides of the gash flapped open, and I saw grey matter. I retched on the grass, eyes stinging with the horrible taste in my mouth.

I added two and two, with the car and myself. I wasn't stupid. I knew what had happened here.

I sat there alone next to where I lay dead, staring unseeing up at the indigo sky with twinkling pinpoints staring back at us. Only the stars to witness my passing. I grit my teeth and grimaced. I brought my hands to my face and dug my nails into my brow, clawing red down my face as my eyes bulged, staring at nothing.

"Do you believe me, now?" a quiet voice from behind me. I start, but I don't turn. I know it's him. Cooly standing there, observing this paradox scene. I have nothing to say. I was so sure I was alive, so sure that I would prove him wrong, and see the hot look of defeat crumple his poised features.

But he was right. I am the fool here. I am a jester with a corpse rotting in the dirt.

"I…" I swallow a bitter lump in my throat and feel my shoulders sink,

"You where right". I've lost. I've lost everything, not sure if if ever had anything. Because someone who had a warm life and happy memories wouldn't be lying alone in the dirt at the end.

I hear the grass shift as he steps closer, then stops feet away from me. I fall back from where I kneel, and sit on the ground in a sort of defeated fashion, tucking my legs in. I stare down the highway at nothing. There are no headlights in the distance.

"Leave me alone" my voice crackles in my throat, straining to be stern, but comes out as a wavering plea.

"No"

"Go away"

"I won't". My eyes snap up, and I feel my face twisting into a terrible grimace. I push myself up and stand, turning on him where he's there, perfectly poised and calm. The whites of his eyes glisten under the far off moonlight. My hands are balled into tight fists, and my fingers ache from it. My eyes are wide and zeroed in on him.

Internally, I am clutching frantically for something to hold on to. I feel something inside is taught, stretched too tight and ripping away.

"Are you happy now? You were right all along. I'm …here. I'm –dead. You got what you wanted. You've proved your point" I stand there with bared teeth, barely able to keep myself up on quaking knees. Blood from my dead body is coating my hands and somehow smeared across my cheek. He just stands there eerily under the stars, watching me.

"I said I'd show you the truth" he says quietly.

"I said I didn't WANT the truth!" my growl escalates into a harsh yell. I stare at him for a moment.

"Why" I sob right in front of him,

"You see a miserable human die alone and scared in the dirt, and you summon them BACK, so they can relive that miserable existence? Why? What kind of a monster does that?".

His gaze darkens a bit and he looks at my body on the ground.

"I never meant to summon you personally"

"well you GOT me"

"I am truly sorry for your loss, but we must go"

"No". I turn my back to him and kneel next to my broken corpse.

" You cannot stay here" he persists.

" Leave me"

"I will not"

"Go the fuck away"

"Simple harsh words won't dissuade me".

"I'm not coming. Just go, I don't want to see your face again" I hiss at him, hoping I hurt him on at least a small scale.

"Then you leave no choice", I hear him sigh.


	6. Is this your idea of helping?

He steps forward in a brisk motion and grabs my arm in a death grip, yanking me to my feet. I blink. The old highway and the starlight over my dirt covered corpse is gone when I open my eyes, and I'm sure I'll never see it again.

It's night in the observatory . The cool moonlight pools the whole room in a strange glow, making our raven hair appear pitch black, and our skin an unnatural white. The basin is empty, the blood that filled it only maybe forty minutes ago is gone. It would be as if it we were never here, if it weren't for the ugly gash in my palm, and the chilling memory of pale dead eyes. He's still gripping my arm with a bruising force, and he lets me yank away from him. I sink to the steps that are feet away from us.

"Do you remember, now?" he asks quietly.

"No" I say, voice hard as the stone walls that surround us.

"Do you remember anything at all" his flat tone is doubtful. Pitiless. I gaze at the floor bathed in the white glow.

"Nothing. You tried to kill me".

"Don't change the subject"

"You drowned me"

"You where an unknowing participant in an ages old ritual. To put it simply, I purged you in your own life force to bring you 'back from the dead', so to speak" he steps down the stairs and crosses the room to the door, then turns to me

"Though you must understand, it was but a mimic; an echo of the last minutes in your mortal life. We were but guests in an irreversible story".

I sigh, long and heavy, and stand slowly. We face each other from across the room.

"Seems this story has met its ending".

"That rests entirely on your shoulders". He silently leaves me on the steps in the empty room filled with moonlight.


	7. They still tell tales of haunted toasts

I wake to the shouts and calls of people running about the castle, going about their work on a bright morning. I raise my head and slowly turn to and fro, my mouth hung open stupidly. I scrub my jaw and sit upright, swiping drool off the side of my face. I rest my heavy head in my hands and close my eyes again.

I wince as I brush my hand over my mess of black hair, and look down at my palm. The gash is there, and it's ugly. It will, however, heal. Become pearly smooth and unrecognizable.

I get to my feet and stagger to the doorway, letting out a long groan and slouching out of my jacket. I'm wearing a grey v-neck tshirt that hangs off my shoulders. So. As it turns out, I'm wrong about my mortality, which has been a hot debate ever since I met him. He insisted that i was a spirit. And he was right, I owe him that much.

I leave the observatory and wander down the hall, walking slowly and avoiding the servants that scurry to and fro; A couple of them have walked through me and it is unnerving to say the least. Let's just say that we really are all the same on the inside.

I see several maids briskly walking with trays of toast, some butter, fruit, eggs, and other stuff. It's still breakfast hour in the castle, I conclude, and snatch a piece of toast off a passing tray, accidentally unbalancing it from the servants grasp. It clatters to the ground.

"Sorry!" I cry, but they can't hear me.

A young maid gasps and drops her tray because there's a floating piece of toast making its way down the hall. Seriously? If food just started up and flying, which it's not, but whatever, I'd start hanging on to my toast for dear life. Anyways. I don't know what spirits eat, or if they even need to, but I'm not giving up food. It's a damn fine art, not just stuff we consume to survive.

I travel slowly down the sun filled hall, nibbling the toast which, to my surprise, I can eat. It's received several concerned glances and shocked faces.

I reach the main hall, which seems to be emptying. Breakfast must be at an end, which is surprising, because meals here can apparently take up to five hours. Or maybe some people here just take five hours to eat because they trapped a spirit in their room, and it's waiting for them.

I turn a corner and wait for a group of guards to pass, then turn down a main hallway, coming face to face with the large blond guy who was in the room yesterday. I've stopped in surprise, and he walks through me. I see blood, flesh and a beating heart. He knocks the toast right out of my hand as he passes and seemingly doesn't notice. The monster.

"Already throwing the palace into an uproar, I see" a voice catches me as I'm about to round a corner. He's leaning against a door way, loosely holding a piece of toast. "Heard you lost your breakfast".

To be honest, I don't really know where we stand. He did throw my immortal spirit into an everlasting state of unrest, but he has helped me through it. In a sense. Well we definitely aren't friends, but the offer of food says otherwise. I take the toast.

"Did you see him just knock It out of my hand? That was horrible"

"Yes, my brother the affable, blue eyed monster" he says sarcastically.

"That's your brother?"

"Yes"

"Is your name Loki?"

"Yes", he squints his eyes suspiciously.

"He was looking for you the other night"

"Ah. Did he come in my room?"

"He poked his head in for a second"

"You do know you could've easily escaped as he opened the door, right?" he scoffs at me.

"Believe me, I tried" I finish off the toast and brush my fingers on my shirt. I see Loki grimace at my lack of manners and at the crumbs left on the cotton.

"Did he ever find you?" I wipe the grease from my mouth with the collar of my shirt, revealing my stomach. This earns another grimace, as well as a napkin that he takes from his front pocket.

"You keep napkins in your pocket?"

"It's a pocket handkerchief and I highly suggest you look into them".

"To answer your question, no. He never found me. I evaded him, and that being said, he's probably still looking for me". I fold the exaggerated napkin into a square and offered it back to Loki.

"Keep it", he says, tight lipped and eyeing the grease on the soft fabric.

"Not too fond of him?" I pry, gazing sidelong at him as we both lean on the wall, bathed in sunlight. He only smirks and starts walking down the hallway, motioning for me to walk after him.

And I guess i take it back, what I said earlier. About my story having reached its ending. I think it's the opposite.

I think this is just the beginning.


	8. we're keeping secrets from eachother

The last couple of days, a summer storm has decided to settle down right above our heads. There are no people walking to and from the castle, and no guards on duty in the courtyards or gates. They take rain pretty seriously here, but I suppose they don't have dryers here either.

We're sitting in the room, paging through books. Loki sits on the edge of the bed, flipping through one with a purple cover. I sit on the floor, crossed legged and resting the huge necromantic book on my knees. It's flipped open to, you guessed it, the chapter on spiritual necromancy, which I recognize solely by the illustration of the weird creature.

"So this ugly bastard is supposed to be me?", I turn my head to the black pants that I'm eyelevel with. "Ah… a restless spirit, yes". "Oh. What are you reading?", I peer up to his book. " Some historical accounts I've already read through", he sighs and carefully sets the book on the stand. As soon as the dull 'thump' reaches my ears, I jump.

"Then read this for me please", I lift the open book up to his face, almost snubbing his nose with it. I've been biding my time, waiting for the opportune moment to ask. And now he has no excuse for refusing…

He lowers it from his face and squints at me suspiciously, "Why? We've gone through the only applicable sections. There's nothing else in there". The gash on my palm throbs as I hold the book below his nose, unwavering, until he finally takes it. He shuts it with a 'boom'.

"HEY". "'hey' what? There's nothing in here for you. And if you don't mind, I prefer to keep this book far from the reaches of danger, as it's very old and the only print in existence", he reaches over and sets the book on the stand, far away from me. I gawk at him "And you consider me 'the reaches of danger'".

"Well you don't strike me as being poised, exactly". "I've been looking at it for over an hour, and you're pulling this now?". "An hour is long enough", he sniffs and begins picking through another volume of books. I turn back around and stare at the wall. Does he not want me to read it? Why not, if we've already been through the only important information? And this is the question which leads me to the conclusion that he hasn't been entirely forthcoming.

The great hall is bright and bustling with people. People lining the benches, people serving other people. A whole lotta people. More of them than I've seen in weeks, and it's a refreshing change from being trapped in an empty room. I twist around where I sit, staring at everyone.

They all look strange. All their outfits strike me as a mix between medieval and ancient Roman, always with gold accessories and headdresses. a shit ton of gold. Most of them wear sandals or slippers.

"There's your brother", I point out for Loki, who's sitting next to me on the bench and trying to be indifferent towards my presence. "The toast destroyer". I whisper and I think he laughed at that, because he chokes as he's drinking a beer. He recuperates and clears his throat, shooting me an annoyed look, then goes back to eating in silence.

We're placed at a bench off to a corner, under what must be the only shadow in this room that's filled with torches. There's maybe six people sitting around the huge bench, all stragglers and loners. Including us, there's eight loners. Well, seven, since I'm technically not here. It's the loser bench.

"Do you always sit alone, or are we just sitting to the side because you don't want people to notice the breadsticks floating right next to you".

Loki doesn't look at me, and I guess that he's trying to act normal. He seems to be stalling as he slowly sips from the glass. He ignores me and continues eating. This proves that my floating breadsticks theory is correct.

I leave him and go back to the room , but not because I care about if he's uncomfortable or not. I mean he's dragged me around with magic and drowned me in blood, so.

No, I have an actual reason for returning here.

On arrival, I glance over the room and instantly get what I came in here for; The book. The fact that he didn't think to hide it casts a shadow of concern over my thoughts.

I carry it under my arm, hands in my pockets, and walk back through the door.

The shouts and laughter coming from the great hall are no longer tempting to me, as they where before, when I heard them from the room. In seclusion, I would have liked nothing better than be surrounded by sounds of mirth.

But now, I have better things to do. Like dodge the few servants scurrying in the hallways, so they don't go spreading rumors about haunted books. Haunted Toast was a different story; That was just funny.

It's because their paranoid whispers will no doubt reach Loki's ears before I can find anything out about the chapter.

But the real problem here is finding a translator. Who is chill with invisible people carrying stolen books. You see my dilemma.

I head into the library first. To be honest, I'm not as confident as I feign to be. I'm actually taking a huge risk in stealing the book, and I'm scared for what will happen if Loki finds it missing. So you understand why I hide deep behind the towering shelves and jump at any noise.

I walk around with the book under my arm, always checking the corners before crossing an isle. I haven't seen anyone here. Only the dust caught in the sunlight. there's no one in here, and therefore the library has proved useless. I'm about to head for the door.

"You there, hiding within the books", a deep voice calls. I accidentally elbow some books off the shelf next to me, and their smack echoes throughout the room . There's silence, then I step out from the shelf.

"I don't hide, only… am cautious", I say nearly squeak. "And pray, why are you cautious?", the voice is steady and clear, and sounds closer than it did moments ago. "I-I've done something that some would consider to be… disagreeable", I stammer as I quietly sneak behind another shelf. I can see him moving, though he's farther away than he sounds. He steps in a slow, elegant way, but I know he's looking for me.

And he's blue. It's a nice, light indigo blue, and it doesn't make him any less easy on the eyes, but it still stands that he is blue. His silver white hair is long and pulled away from his face. A skinny braid runs down his back. His eyes are big and blue with snowy eye lashes and thin white brows.

"I don't mean to be rude", I pace behind the shelves, watching him, "but what are you". He chuckles; his smile a thin line on his sharp jaw. "But you haven't heard of the last dark elf in Odin Allfathers' court?". This perks my interest. I mean, I have no idea what a dark elf is, but hearing the name spurs my imagination.

"No? Then I must introduce myself", he stops a couple feet away, facing the isle I was just in moments ago. He's following glimpses of the book that I carry, but I don't dare set it down for fear I would misplace it. Or worse, for him to take it. "I am Algrim, Advisor to Odin, king".

I'm silent I try to sidestep away from the sunlight pooling on the floor, careful not to cast a shadow. He's almost rounding the corner, and in panic, I rush down another isle, momentarily blocking the sun. His strange eyes snap to the blink of darkness. I finally set the book on a shelf, as it's becoming too much of a liability.

He turns down the isle I'm in, and I'm blocked by a beam of sun that pools right before my feet. If I cross it now, he'll know exactly where I am.

He reminds me of a prowling cat as he steps down the rows of books.

I quiet my breaths and creep to the side, flattening myself. He stops feet away and, to my horror, he lifts the book from where I set it, and in his nimble fingers he flips it over to the cover. "This literature you carry is of dark magic", his murmurs quietly, but still I hear him clearly. "Have you stolen this book, is this what you've done that others would deem disagreeable?", he slightly chides.

I don't dare answer. I don't even breathe. I just stand there, staring at him as he steps gracefully closer and I'm losing the time I have until Loki realizes the book is missing. He's standing right before me now, towering above me. He reaches forward and hands me the book. I blink.

"If you truly wish to know the depths of dark magic, I suggest asking the intelligence of a scholar", he's staring straight at me with dark eyes, "I strongly disagree with practicing it's ways". I stand there, heart pounding in my chest, frozen where I stand.

I reach my hand out and softly take it. "I-It's not my intention to practice it, I only want to know a segment of it of which I've come to much misfortune over", my voice is barely a whisper as I stand cornered in the darkening library. "A-and if you don't mind, I have to go". The great hall is probably beginning to empty now, and Loki may be well on his way up to the room.

I silently creep away from where he stands in a shadow, seeming to watch me leave. "Farewell, then, thief in the shadows", he chuckles after me.


	9. add 'sofa thief' to my resume

A horrible scraping is screeching throughout the hall, making the guards on parole wince and grimace. It's me, of course, making the terrible cacophony that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. I'm dragging a small sofa up the stairs, trying to avoid passerby who are searching for the source of the noise.

I give it a tug, and it makes an agonized screeching. "SHUT THE HEL UP", a mans voice roars from somewhere down the hall. "KISS MY ASS".

The leg slides on the step with a '_thump_', and I start lifting it to climb the next step. "I see you're charming persona hasn't changed in the past hour. May I make an inquiry as to what in the Hel you are doing" , A head of black hair comes into view at the base of the stairs. "Apologies for dinner, by the way".

I jump, and my stomach drops. I stop breathing for a second, then remember that I put the book back in the room, angled exactly as it was before, and left quickly. It turns out, I had more time to kill until everyone returned from the great hall, and sleeping arrangements had been on my mind. Hence the sofa.

"No need to apologize", I wheeze as I lift the leg another step, deciding to ignore his question. If Loki's not considerate enough to realize that I need a place to crash that's not the stone floor, then let him wonder.

He climbs the stairs the short distance I've dragged the sofa and takes it from me, "Take pity on these poor people's future hearing, and let me". He lifts the front, and I go around the lift the back. We shuffle up the stairs and head down the hallway.

"Where did you come by this unfortunate piece of furniture?", he raises an eyebrow at me as he walks backwards. "Around".

We reach the room and set it down so he can open the door. It won't go through. "Push it", he says. "I'm _trying_".

There's a moment of tension filled only with grunts and curses as we angle it in midair. It goes through with the short wooden legs clunking against the doorframe.

The sofa is a light blue hue, with mahogany arms and trim. It's more of a loveseat, really, but it's better than the floor. I position it on the far wall and plop down on it, slightly wheezing.

"that took it out of me", I breath. Loki doesn't reply, and I glance at him. A pang of paranoia rushes through me when I see him handling The Book. Will he notice something off? Will he know I took it? He sets it back down.

"what where you doing all that time after you left the hall?", he asks conversationally while he slides off his brown boots. A flush of panic is working it's way up my neck, and my insides are frozen.

"Stealing some bastards' sofa".


	10. Don't name me after a folk song

We're in the empty library as the sun begins to sink in the evening. The bookshelves cast long shadows on the marble floor, and we sit at an old table, near where I stood next to Algrim the other night.

Loki is copying some old accounts on a long yellow strip of parchment paper. The feather of the quill swishes as he writes.

"I think", he murmurs and begins another paragraph, "We should discuss titles". My eyes flicker up from watching him write, "What titles". "Yours". I stare at him, lost. He looks up at me quickly, then dips the quill in the ink, "Your name". Comprehension dawns on me.

Of course I _have_ a name already, or rather, I did until I died. I didn't know dead people could have names.

"We could just find my real name. Couldn't you do that thing where we relive parts of my life again?", I perk hopefully.

"Do you want me to do that thing where I drown you in your own blood again?" he raises a thin eyebrow at me, then turns back to his writing when my face darkens, "Didn't think so".

"I suppose the duty rests on my shoulders", he sighs and dusts the quills feather against his chin. I raise my head from staring at the table, and narrow my eyes at him, "_Not necessarily_".

"I suppose…", he ignores me and shrugs his shoulders, "Sky is a fitting name". Then he goes back to copying the old accounts to new parchment paper.

I mean just like that. He just spews some random word out of his mouth, and that's the end of it. "Sky", I repeat stupidly, "What does that translate to?".

"In the words of _my_ language? Guess", he doesn't so much as glance my way, he just keeps writing. I sit there staring at him. "You want to me after the goddamn atmosphere".

"The atmosphere is a gift to man. Some planets are not so lucky as ourselves".

Seriously? '_There are suffocating kids on other planets who would love to have your air_', is pretty much what he's saying.

* * *

He's lying on the bed with a pillow propping his head, and staring at the dark ceiling. I've been laying on the sofa, and I have not uttered a word since fifteen minutes ago, when he said 'Sleep well', and I mumbled something incoherently.

"Oh come now". We're lying in the dark, the moonlight pooling in through the window. "Come now _what_", I sigh. "You are seriously still upset about it?". "About what", I mutter, even though I know exactly what he's talking about, and yes, I am still upset. You could even say I'm mad.

A pillow flies across the room, whaps my face, then falls to the floor.

"The word Sky", he says in the way you would say 'uhh…duh?'. I turn on my side and glare into the dark. "_It's a horrible name_", I hiss, throwing the pillow back, but it doesn't make the satisfying sound of hitting skin.

"It's a good name, at least in my opinion. And you sing that song of it all the time", I can just imagine him shrugging his shoulders and trying to go back to sleep with that pitiful excuse lying on his tongue.

"WHAT song". "You know…", a few notes reverberate in the air between us.

" '_Over the Sea to Skye_'? I've never sang that", I snap, "I don't even sing". "You have, and you do", he groans, clearly yearning for sleep that I wasn't about to let him have now. "Well I certainly don't sing it enough to be _named for it_", I hiss in a harsh whisper. There's silence on the other side of the room, then "Did you make it yourself?".

"what? No, of course not. It's like a folk song", I flip on my stomach and nestle my head in my arms, expecting him to drop it. I should w by now that Loki does not simply drop things, at least, not without having the last word in. "Tell me". I blink and rub my eyes. "I don't know it exactly. Someone just told me the story once".

I stare out the window, at the white light of the moon. "This one time, a prince was in dire straits. He lost a war, or something. So he disguised himself and fled away on a row boat, through an Isle called Skye", I murmur, "It would make it a lot cooler if he was never seen again, but I don't think that's the story".

There's an empty silence, then "Surely, that can't be all there is". "All that I know". " Then you are a poor storyteller", he sighs, and I hear the sheets shift.

He's said his peace and insulted me, so I presume he will drift off sooner or later. I turn on my side and cross my arms, and then it hits me. I remembered learning that song when I was a kid.

That's the second memory.

I toss and turn, and finally my eyes slowly close.

I drift into darkness and the song rings somewhere in my dreams.

_ Onward the sailors cry,_

_ Carry the lad that's born to be King_

_ Over the Sea to Skye._


	11. Wash that sorcerer right out of my hair

"Not to be rude…", Loki says one summer day as he disinterestedly pages through a dusty book that he's currently translating. I glance up from where I sit on a modestly sized book shelf, lazily flipping through literature that I can't read.

"I'm guessing that what you're about to say next is horribly cruel", I say flatly. "…But you could do with a bath. Perhaps throw some soap in there. Just a suggestion", he goes back to translating.

I slowly raise my head to stare blankly at him. "What are you trying to impress". "Nothing whatsoever. Just that your hair is slightly …pieced, and you don't exactly carry the aroma of a fresh spring day".

"I smell like a basket of fucking roses". He shakes his head and goes back to scritching on the parchment paper with a snow white quill.

"That's the upside of being dead", I stretch my arms up and lace my fingers behind my head, "No showers". He scoffs, but doesn't look up from his work as the quill loops and swirls in a really very beautiful way. I like to watch him write, sometimes. In fact, that's what I was doing up until two minutes ago, until he brought up baths.

"_Besides_, I like my hair like this", I nestle my face into my palms, but wince as I rub the gouge the wrong way. "How's that coming?", he says without glancing up from his writing, "Your hand, that is". "Good". "I meant it about the soap. I mean…", sudden darkness sweeps across his features, "It _is_ getting hotter out, what with it being the middle of summer and all".

"I'm aware". He sighs and looks back to the book, "And are you aware of the fumes of a decaying carcass that's left to rot under the suns heat during the day?".

"Are you saying what you're giving me very good reason to think you're saying", I calmly shut my book and face the man/boy who I believe has just inferred that I smell like a dead animal. "You wouldn't have gleaned an accusation from that if you were truly devoid of being guilty of it", he says disinterestedly.

"But It _was_ an accusation", I say dryly. "Only if it were true enough for you to be insulted by it". I can't say that I'm not hurt by his not so subtle insults, but he's right. I haven't showered in a while. Since before I died, so to speak.

A flash of blood and torn flesh flashed through my mind, and I'm suddenly staring at nothing. I gaze down at my palm, where the deep gash is far from healing or scarring over. It's just red and mean and I can see deep layers of meat and my ripped open muscle. It's still pretty tender.

"Give it here", Loki hums, his nose pointed to the book. "No", I snap. We've been having this debate for days. He'll casually ask to heal my hand, which he sliced open a couple nights ago, and I'll casually refuse, and from then on, it's a battle of pride.

But I suspect it's because he feels a nagging obligation for it. Not guilt, exactly, as I don't think he's actually capable of such an emotion. Simply put, he did me a wrong and wishes to wipe the slate clean. But he can't do that when I still have a wound made by his hands that he sees every day, impressing upon him that he owes me. Which isn't the case at all. It's just what obligation does to people.

On the flip side, It's not my design to have him fester in this matter of obligation. I have a reason to let my hand scar, just as he does for wanting to heal it. Out of all the things I've learned in my time here, the things I've seen, the blood and tears I've spilt, this is the most important thing. This tender red flesh is my memento, kind of, anchoring me to humanity.

It's the thing that makes me hope to remember everything about my human life, when all I remember of it is drowning rats and an old song. It makes me remember that there was so much more to my life than my death. That as it heals over and stops burning with pain, so will I.

Of course I'm too ashamed to admit this to him, as it's very a matter of extreme sentiment and he'll likely scoff and then I'll never hear the end of it. So I just refuse him without giving a reason.

"Just give it to me", he flips a page in the book. "Why", I say flatly. "Because it's ugly and I don't wish to see it ".

I laugh as the sun casts long shadows between the shelves.

We are two children spending the summer alone in the library.


	12. Trusting Blues Clues

Let me make this crystal clear. I feel _terrible_ for lying to Loki. Lying to him, being stealing his book of Necromantic spells that he's suspiciously begun to value. He's just possessive over it, but I feel bad all the same.

It's like when a kid starts playing with some dumb toy, the other kids want it too. It's like that here. Only the dumb toy is a very old book full of what Algrim refers to as Dark Magic. Another thing that Algrim fellow told me is that I shouldn't get involved in it. But it's a bit too late for that, I think.

So it's it's seven o clock, and Loki is heading to the hall. I have three hours to steal the book, figure out how to translate the chapter, then sneak it back to where it was. On top of that, avoid Algrim. Because I didn't exactly hit it off with him. and he seams to have a strange ability to see me.

I leave Loki at the doors to the great hall. When they shut behind him, I run back down the hall, up the flights of stairs, take a shortcut through the wall into the hallway, to the door. There's a bright glimmer in my eyes as I spot the book at the bottom of a stack of smaller ones. But there's precision required here, you can't just steal something without finesse.

I stand there, staring at the books, how they're angled, and finally carefully lift the stack off the one I'm looking for, and how it lies on the table. I lift it and breeze through the door.

* * *

No one comes in the library much, save for people who work here. Sometimes old people and servants make trips in here to get something on old spells, records or family trees. Oh yes. And Loki, who just hangs out in here for fun.

I scan the room for people, not seeing anyone, and notice a small counter with lengths of parchment falling over its edges. I go over with the book tucked under my arm.

My goal here is to find anything in English. There's got to be something, even though it's not their native language. I'm riffling through the books under the counter, and searching through the rolls of parchment when a sharp, blood curdling noise sends a jolt through my body.

I scramble away from the mess of paper I've made, and peer out from the edge of the desk. The noise rakes my ears again, it's coming from behind me. Turning slowly, I see the commotion. It's a bird.

Just a sneaky old raven sitting in the window. It caws again. 'shoo!', I growl at it, waving my arms. it just sits there, looking at me with little black eyes. Glaring at it and turn back to the mess I made minutes before.

When the parchment is all sitting as it was, and the books all stacked a bit more neatly than they where before, I turn to the looming shelves. As it is every evening, the sun shines its last light through the windows and casts long horizontal shadows through the shelves.

I walk along a row, the shadows pooling on my face as I step out of the light. I've left The Book on an empty shelf in the counter, so it won't burden me perchance someone comes in here. Now I step through the shadows and light, staring up to the looming shelves of books.

As I'm pacing down the row, a second interruption sends a wave of shock down to my stomach. Not a sharp caw, but a cool voice that bounces off the walls like the a rumbling wave. "Back again, thief in the shadows?".

I've been called that name before. "How'd you know I was here". Compared to the deep voice that clearly rang through the isles, mine is a weak comparison. "You are always here, thief", he speaks with a smile.

"I haven't been here for days", I contradict, stepping under the darkness of a shelf.

"Ah" he sighs "Though you _wished_ to be". It sent a tingling shiver down my spine, because he was right.

"W-what a strange assumption", I call into the library, unsure where he is and afraid he knows where I am. Just responding so he doesn't know he threw me for a loop. It's not that he's exactly a threat to me, it's just that I don't trust him. He seems imposing through his light and graceful manner, and it makes me uneasy. And I don't mean to be racist, but he's blue.

"I do not make assumptions", his voice has hardened a bit. I pear down an isle, and silently creep down it when I see that it's clear.

My neck begins to prickle, and I break into a nervous sweat. There's silence as I reach the end of the Isle, and stop. He's right ahead of me, just pacing coolly, his black and gold robes slightly pooling on the floor.

I begin retreating, but he turns around to stare at me, and I see he has the book. How did he know where it was?

"This book is what draws you here, thief? You think you can decipher it's secrets yet with more words of ancient tongues?". That's it. I'm scared, now. He knows I don't speak their language, that I'm not a native.

It's either fear or cowardice that lifts my feet to walk beyond the protection of the shelf. But not courage. I stand before him yet a second time, yards away. He's holding the book in a slim grasp, and a serene expression lightly lifts the corners of his indigo lips.

"It's my only shot at…", I trail off and stare at the floor. My only shot at _what_? If I get it translated, what then? What will I have gained by it? more lies for Loki, and still nothing to my name. I've lost my motivation. "uh". I stand there, not sure if he can see me or not, but with his dark eyes fixed right on me, I'll make a bet that he can.

"I don't think you would understand", I sigh, then stammer, "not that I don't think you _could_, it's just … a long story". His gaze flickers to the cover of the book, which he sets lightly on a nearby table. "Any story involving necromancy, I think I could understand".

"And spiritual necromancy? Would you understand a story about that?". His face breaks into a white grin, small creases as he smiles. "Of that necromancy, I would tell you thousands of tales". My heart jumps in my chest, and I can't help the half smile, "Then I have a favor to ask you, if you'd be so kind".

His head falls back just a bit, and a clear, baritone chuckle leaves his lips. "But do you not know,that to help you has been my only want from the beginning, my thief". A breath of relief leaves my chest, and a slow laugh leaves me. "But I must ask one thing of you, before I help you".

My heart drops to my feet, and I freeze. I should've known there'd be a catch. This couldn't be good.

"You know my name, and who I am", his black robes shift as he steps towards me, "But you have never told me yours". He's feet away from me now, his gaze pleasant. "So tell me, thief, who are you?".

"I-I have no name", I admit as the words leave my lips, "I am without memory or body. Without life, and far from death. I…", I lift my eyes to meet his indigo gaze, "I am no one, kind Algrim".

A beseeching smile warms his face, and to my shock and confusion, he reaches out and brushes his hand on my shoulder, "We will see if that is true or not by the end. But for now…", he turns, dark robes swishing, and paces to the table where the books lies, "I will call you Keiran".

He beckons me with lithe fingers, and opens the book to _Spiritual Necromancy: An introduction, _where the creature blankly stares out at us from the yellowing page.


	13. We are liars in the dark

I'm laying casually on the sofa when I hear faint footsteps approaching, and stop at the door. And yes, I've placed the book back, exactly where it was, with the other books stacked on it perfectly, thank you. The door swings open, and black hair swishes as Loki turns to shut it behind him.

"Enjoying my absence?", he drawls and shuts the door slowly, apparently focusing very hard on it. What is he doing? Is he casting the containment spell? My mind rushes through paranoid thoughts. Does he know?

He turns to me and kind of walks backwards to sit on the edge of the bed. He sighs and leans back on his arms. Are we going to have a man to man? A facedown? Loki Vs Spirit?

"This room is much too small". WHEW. Not what I was expecting, but oh well."O-oh? I suppose, yeah", I feign casualty.

"Yes, I've long outgrown these walls", he lays back and blankly stares at the ceiling "Though they seemed much larger to me as a child".

He's being… oddly open with me. He's not his usual prickly self. My second clue was the fact that he mentioned his childhood. Loki, and bitter men like Loki, do not like to acknowledge that they were ever children at any time in their lives.

The first clue? He's wearing his boots, the thin black ones that run the length of his calf, on the bed. What does Loki always do as soon as he comes in here? Take off his shoes.

I sit there placently and stare at him, trying to deduce what could possibly be wrong with him.

He's still staring at the ceiling. "You've had the same room since you where a kid?", I ask conversationally. His gaze flickers to me, and then back to the ceiling, eyes darkening a bit.

"You think it strange?", his voice is smooth and a bit cold. "No, just uncommon. I don't know, don't listen to me", my words wander, and I try not to shut him down, "Hey, you know what". He looks at me, his eyes far away.

"You're right. This room is too small for you. I say we start hunting for a room that's more up your alley". His gaze doesn't change when he looks back to the ceiling.

It's been a couple minutes of him just looking at the rock above our heads, when he suddenly sits and turns to the other side of the bed.

The side with the table. With the books. And The Book under those books.

The Book that he's sliding out from under those other books right now. My heart makes a thud, and I can feel it in my throat and in my ears, as if it's trying to warn me. I keep my eyes fixed on Loki as he pages through the book.

He stops on the chapter. You know which one. I see the purse of his lips, I see the squint in his eyes. "Where you scowering through this again today?", he sighs, gaze loosely pointed at me.

"I'm… not sure. I've scowered a lot of books today, all with the same results" I shrug and pray to God that he doesn't notice the sweat on my forehead, and the flush working its way up my neck and heating my ears. I jump when he closes the book with a loud 'thump'.

"a strange thing to invest your time in, when you know it will get you nowhere", he tosses the book on the spread, his eyes still fixed on me. I gulp and try to meet his gaze. "and you being illiterate just makes it all the more pointless".

My ears are definitely burning now, half with annoyance and half with anticipation. Annoyance, because I'm being insulted, and anticipation, because Loki is making guesses. And he never guesses wrong.

"See, I _know_ you're avoiding my question", he stands and begins kind of sauntering towards me, "and I know you _at least_ opened it today". He stands over me, arms loose at his sides and unsteady gaze positioned on me. "O-oh?", I raise my eyebrow, attempting nonchalance when anxiety is racking my nerves and paranoia is tearing at my stomach. "Because the seal I cast on it is broken".

I open my mouth to fire off another excuse, but he cuts me off . "But you see, my dear Sky, I don't _need_ to see the seal to know that it's broken. I don't even have to ask you anything", he leans down, until he's staring me in the eye, and pinning me with his gaze.

My heart is slamming into my chest, and I think he can hear it. The flush has ransacked my face of any possible facade, blotching my cheeks a heated pink. I clench my jaw tight and stare at him. The scar on my hand thrums with my pulse.

"I can see it on your face", he says quietly but with menace on the tip of his tongue, eyes widening for just a moment, "You are _lying_ to me".

I keep eye contact with him, and bolts of energy seem to be keeping our stares locked together. This will not be like the day I met him. I will not turn away now.

"Well, as usual, you're right. I was scowering that particular book today" I sigh and relax on the sofa and he stands upright, still staring at me, "you got one thing wrong, though". "Oh?", he squints at me.

"Yeah. My name isn't Sky". He raises his eyebrows, and I think he took the distraction rather well. "Well, we all must call you _something_" ,and the fact that he means Himself by 'we all' speaks volumes about his personality. "then call me… Keiran".

He seems to go calm again, the threatening waves all smoothing into clear water. He's still standing there, above me. "Keiran", he repeats sharply, "How very appropriate".

The rest of the conversation is drowned out by cries of asking what he means, and him refusing to give up leverage, ends in chuckles and it's dark when we drift to sleep.

He's out cold when I pull the sheets of the translated chapter out from under the sofa's cushion. I begin reading Algrims' smooth handwriting under the moonlight.

* * *

And as I lie awake, reading, my thoughts are roughly these;

Loki may have dragged me through hell in the earlier months, when he drug me through these castles halls, forced me to acknowledge my death, and drowned me in my own blood, but I've learned today, that all those where just a _taste_ of what he's capable of.

That the menacing whites of his eyes are just the tip of the iceberg.

I realize that all the pain he's inflicted on me would be far sweeter tasting than his rage.


	14. Apple Jack has beef with Loki

I don't know what woke me, only that it made me start. Seconds later, I found what it the cause: The menacing sorcerer that threatened me last night.

Thankfully, I'd hid the translated chapter back under the cushion last night, though I didn't get very far into it. I fell asleep before I could read three paragraphs.

Currently, Loki was laid up in bed, groaning and seemingly annoyed. His color was terrible, and for Loki's pale complexion, that's saying something. Shadows seemed to loom under his eyes and his midnight hair pooled around him on the pillow. A poor comparison to his usual stature.

"holy shit" I remarked as I rolled over on the sofa and rubbed my face before approaching him. "What happened to you".

He glared over at me, then shut his eyes as the sunlight blared into his face. "Shut the window, would you", he croaked. "Can't. No shutters". What could possibly be wrong with him? I reached for the stack of books and set them on the window seal, blocking out the sun. I made it higher as I found more miscellaneous literature lying around.

"Better?" I turned to him, hoping for appreciation . "Slightly". I flopped back on the sofa and stared at him. He's silent for a couple minutes, then opens his dry mouth.

"It seems I had what you would call, a little one too many last night".

So _that's_ what was wrong with him last night. And it's what's wrong with him this morning. What do they even do for hangovers here?

"Do you want some… tea", I ask lamely, unsure of how to help him. Though he undoubtedly doesn't want assistance from me. "I can manage myself", he rasps and sounds like a demon.

Yeah, I'm getting him some tea.

I breeze out the door and stand in the hallway as I conjure a mental map. The kitchens are… wasn't the room I tried to escape from Loki out of that one time a kitchen? Pretty sure it was. And I got there from an armory, which was next to the observatory.

I go through the armory, and sure enough, I find the side kitchen. It looks simple enough. A stone stove, burners, pots, pans, spoons, all that jazz. When I don't see any lighters, or campfire starters or any of that, I get a torch from the hall, setting it to the gas burner.

There are mugs in one of the shelves, but no herbs for tea. That means another mission.

Their gardens are very well looked after, but mostly consist of flowers and these weird golden apples. It was actually really hard to find. I never would've guessed that the gardens are behind the castle, on the brink of the forest.

I find some licorice down under the colorful growth, and get a handful of it. I'm about to turn and head back to the side entrance from whence I came in, when a soft voice calls to me.

I turn on my heel, but I'm not that surprised. More and more people can see me nowadays and I'm getting pretty used to it. "You there, young girl", I see a tall, fair skinned woman with white robes swishing around her ankles. She stands at the base of the encroaching forest that looms out behind her.

"What brings you to my garden?"

I hold up the licorice. "Are these simple herbs so crucial to you, that you would pilfer them from me?", her clear voice speaks with no anger, only clear wisdom. "I just thought it was a garden, I'm sorry. It's just my … friend. No. this guy is in need of some herbal assistance and-".

"_Enough_, girl. Who is this 'guy' you speak of, with whom you contemplate being friends?", her skin shines bronze under the sun as she steps towards me, completely serene. "A … a Loki…of the castle. He's got a hangover", I add.

Her blue eyes squint just a bit, and she seems to sniff. "If Loki Odinson is whom you speak of, then be sure that he is no friend of yours", she pulls her flowing golden hair to the side and turns back towards the forest, "But in any case, mere herbs will not offer much to any god of Asgard, no matter how small they are. I suggest taking one of my apples upon the tree. This will help you in your plight to cure the Trickster"

I look back to the golden apples, then back to the woman, but all I see is the tail of her robes as she disappears into the forest.

"Though I cannot fathom why you would do such a thing", I hear her clear voice on the wind.

I'm back in the kitchen with a golden apple from the woman who seems to have beef with Loki, and licorice, because I already picked it and I'm not going to just throw it away. The water is hot, and I bind the fennel in a piece of cloth and dunk it in there. unconventional, I know, and I don't even know if it'll work.

But when the slightly yellow color bleeds into the water, I've reached success at long last.

I'm carrying the mug of tea in one hand, and an apple in the other. It's an opportune moment to trip and look like an asshole, so I'm being very careful until I reach the room.

I can't just breeze through the door, because I have solid objects in my hands. Remember Loki's brother+ my toast? That's because solids can't pass through each other, only spirit can.

So I set my findings down and do something I haven't done since we brought the pilfered sofa in here; opened the door. I pick up my things and shut the door behind me with my foot. Loki is still here, and still looking miserable.

"I suppose you're feeling very sorry for yourself", I tease him and set the tea on the table, devoid of books due to my making blinds out of them. He's laying there, the blanket tossed away, and a haze is covering his usually sharp eyes. His cheeks are blotched a really very ugly red.

"I _told_ you, I'd manage", how he remains so threatening in such an inferior state, I've no idea. "You sound like a demon", I chide, but my smile disappears. He looks really bad.

When he sees the apple, his eyes widen slightly, then turns to squint at me. "Where did you _get_ that". "a tree of golden apples", "Did _she_ give this to you?".

"a beautiful woman, yes. Try the tea", I lift the mug and impose on his face, that's turned a hue of white, though his cheeks look positively feverish. I'm not going to touch his head.

Not because I don't _want_ to, mind you. In fact, I need to know how hot he is right now. I don't put my hand to his face, because he would bite my fucking fingers off.

He sits up and holds the tea, letting his head fall against the headboard. He looks to be in extreme discomfort, and he's not eating the apple, or drinking the tea.

It hits me that he probably doesn't like this. I mean, of course he doesn't like hangovers, who does. Heaven knows, I remember. But someone else being here, seeing him like this, when he's usually so poised and in control.

He'd probably feel like a dog taking charity if I sit here watching him take what I give.

I purse my lips and head for the door, shutting it quietly behind me. I hear the 'clunk' of the mug on the table.


	15. Heimdal and the city of Asgard

I'm wandering outside, a place I've never been. If you the garden, I've been out _once_.

From the window of the room, I've seen the city and it's people, all bright and busy. And in the distance, beyond the last gate to the city, rays of rainbow light reflect off into the sky.

Apple Jack referred to this place as Asgard, and I've never heard of such a place, though its name installs high expectations.

I walk the bridge from the palace to the gate and stand there. The guards stand there, huge spears sticking up to the sky. We stand there, unmoving. Unsure of what to do, I walk to the gate, nudging it. I try to push it open. No luck. There's a large gilded lock upon the doors.

I knock on the hard brass. The guards snap to the sound and call, "Who is it that wishes entry". "uhhh... me", I say wearily. One of them rolls his eyes and sticks his spear into the lock, turning it. there's a booming '_clank'_, "These people", he grumbles and the doors open.

I will not waste the opportunity of the open door, so I run through, catching my jacket on one of the hinges of the open lock, tearing away wildly. I run down the rest of the bridge and into the city entrance with my jacket hanging limply from the dumbfounded guards' hands.

In the paved roads of the city, I have to keep watch for civilians. And there's a damn lot of them, all wearing that Roman, Medieval kind of Viking warrior style. Next to their shimmering, glistening gold that radiates light the suns' brilliance, I feel simple in dirty jeans and a lame v-neck. _Yes_, the same clothes I walked in here with. And I suppose, the same clothes I died in. That's gross.

I walk on the streets and stare at the colors, look up to the street signs, and relish the mirth that this city seemed to thrum with, like a life of it's own. On benches outside taverns, I watch beautiful, rotund women with pink faces serve huge bearded men with red cheeks that all carry long, chiseled swords. They are all laughing, and it is well with them.

I go past carts carrying huge furs, curled horns, beautiful curtains that Loki's room could definitely use, and strange items with opals and cats eyes placed deep into the wood. They are all hauled ahead by huge draft horses that where always my favorite.

In about three and a half hours of gawking and running down sunlit alleyways and small gardens hidden deep behind strong buildings, I come to another gate. This one is the gate to the city. There are two guards, once again, standing here, though I don't think they are as slow as the ones guarding the castle.

I ponder this situation for a moment, before coming to a startling and terrifying realization. These guards can't see me, therefore will never trust me. But they trust these honor bound citizens, right? They trust these good, hearty people? But this is not my point yet.

I turn on my heel and walk back into the thriving city, keeping an eye out for any stragglers. Now, I've never possessed anyone before, but it's my only shot at seeing what's beyond the gates. And I'm open to it. besides, it should come naturally.

I see a group of people walking with their heads turned to me. I start following them, feeling like a real creep. A familiar head of blond hair sticks up higher from the rest of them, who are all travelling in a pack. Loki's brother, I choose you!

I spirit through the people surrounding him, which is gross, and walk backwards in front of him, unsure of what to do next. I stare at him, wondering if I just … grab him or.

As I keep my gaze on him, I can't help noticing the sky blue eyes that crinkle as he laughs with his friends. And how I wish to be with friends. The bright flash of his grin, that makes me think he's never known fear. But how I wish to forget my fears. I stare at him and wonder how two brothers can be so different. More than that, how two people can be the complete opposite of each other.

I hurry my walking backwards pace and jump as I almost walk backwards into someone. I don't want to do that ever again. I'm about to run into another one, but I jump away from them, and into Loki's brother.

All I see is flesh and a beating heart, but when I still and listen, I feel something rushing through me at the same time. It's the blood. Vessels all pumping through him, and through me, and I'm caught somewhere in between. I feel every pulse and rush of blood going in and out like an internal tide. I follow a central stream of blood upwards.

Jackpot. I'm in his head. I have his brain, his sight. I'm in his mind.

I walk up to the guards, and they both bow quickly, then stare at me. "Open the gate please", my voice comes out deep and weird. It reverberates in my brain and in my throat. I'm walking very slowly because I'm tall and heavy, and the ground is a long way down.

"_THOR_ what are you doing?" a woman's voice calls._ Is that me? Who is that? I mustn't be so paranoid all the time! She's not talking to me!_ I wait for the guards to unlock the gate with their spears, but when I hear the successful ' clank', a hand on my back stops me.

I shudder at the sudden touch and turn around. Another beautiful woman, this one in armor that reminds me of Xena's. Her dark golden hair is loose and wild, falling on her shoulders, and her bangs fall to the bridge of her button nose, betwixt chocolate eyes that beam up at me.

I stand there for a moment, staring at her. She is very cute. "Where are you _going_?", her eyes squint as she quizzically grins at me, a slit in her wide jaw. "I… have business here", I bullshit, "on the other side". She backs away, putting her hands on her hips, "We just _came_ from the bifrost, you large dolt, do not tell me you crave _more_ adventure".

I stand there staring at her, tight jawed, "That's it. More adventure, I…", I talk to her as I slip between the doors, "More adventure". The doors shut with a final '_boom_' with her on the other side.

Her shouts of protest are deaf to my ears when I turn and see what lies before me; The source of the rainbow lights I see far from the city.

A long band of crystal stretched from the gates of the city to an observatory of sorts. It shines under the afternoon sun, and casts beams from the sky to the toiling sea down below. It seems to hold everything within it's band of light; The city, the castle, the gilded gates, the villagers with sun in their hearts, the garden of golden apples, everything is apparent in this crystal timeline of Asgard.

I step onto it, unsure of myself and unsure of this bridge. Little lights shine up to my face, which I forget has more scruff than what I'm used to. I feel adrift as I make measured steps along the band of light, like I could fall, or am already falling.

I look like a moron, or rather, this Thor looks like a moron as he traipses along the bridge and sets his arms out to his sides, trying to balance. I can just imagine how I look.

I peer down to the crashing waves and it seems a long ways down. I gulp and stare at the observatory, beginning to pace determinedly forward, though I feel like sitting down to stop this queasiness. I make quit steps towards the entrance and lean on the doorway.

Sighing, I step inside. It's a strange place, with a circular dome in the center, surrounded by an abstract, golden arch thing. Past it, I see a gilded guard standing there, leaning on his huge sword. Guards to the castle, guards to the city and now

A guard to the kingdom. I turn to stare back at the bridge, and a booming voice calls to me, bouncing off the gilded walls.

"You there, spirit. I suggest you let young Thor loose from your grasp. Manipulating the royal family is an unwise activity in my presence". Once again, I'm not at all surprised that he can see me. "I'm beginning to think I'm just a human, as you all are able to spot me so easily", I drawl, leaning against the wall.

"That fate may yet come to pass, but for the present, you are undoubtedly a human spirit. We here are gods, and the majority of us are not deceived by any mortals", he faces the open sky as he speaks, and never turns to me. "Well, if it means something, I don't mean to deceive the minority. I just… apprehend them to get past the gates".

He's silent for a moment, staring out at the sky with ethereal eyes the color of the blaring sun and distant cosmos. "But I mean no trouble, loyal guard. This is just an expedition outside the palace-","I am no _guard_, you wavering whisper of wind. I am the gatekeeper, the ever present protector of Asgard. I am Heimdal", he booms, and it echoes off the walls where our reflections warp and churn on the glossy surface.

"N-no offense, good heimdal! Now that we know each other better, I don't make assumptions", I jump back a couple inches, and squeak in a rough voice that isn't my own. He sighs and looks out at the orange and pink sky. "You needn't bother, wraith. I've no need of knowing you better", "well if that's how you feel, I'll just lea-"

"Hush, insufferable ghost! And listen to my words. I've no need of knowing you better, because I knew of you the second you presented yourself in Asgard. Just as I knew of Loki Odinsons' delvings in dark necromancy, and knew of your death as a result of that insubordination. All you children have accomplished in the past months, has been apparent to me, even your lies to him. I know all that happens in the nine realms, for I am Heimdal"

I stare at him, shocked and a bit ashamed. I mean, he can see everything. Put in my situation, don't tell me you wouldn't instantly think of something horribly embarrassing. "Th-then you know that I mean no harm to anyone, least of all this guy here", I lay a thick hand on my burly chest.

"Yes, I _suppose_, though I can't say this vessel suits you", his voice has calmed a bit, but it's clear he's uncomfortable with me possessing this Thor. And I'm uncomfortable with it too, but what'll you do.

"You said earlier, that my fate as a human may come to pass?", or something along those lines. "Have you not read the translations that Algrim has provided you with?". "Not … really, no. I was reading them last night, but didn't really get through the introduction, and I didn't really have time this morni-",

"Enough, spirit. And listen well, for you are not welcome in my observatory, or on this bridge again. Read the translations, and you will know the truth about this half-life you lead now. From then on, I turn my gaze from you, as your fate is muddled in my vision. I see the paths layed out before you, but until you choose, I cannot see the future you will come to see", I nod awkwardly and turn to the exit. "And take head, shadow. Of those who would call themselves your friend"

I hear his warning as I leave the doorway, back onto the bridge. And it's strange, really.

Because the woman with the golden apples gave me a warning similar about Loki.


	16. A North wind binds the Storm part 1

I'm back in the castle after gently dismantling my vessel, who wandered around in confusion until his friends found him.

It's late in the evening now. Servants are putting the finishing touches on dinner, but my mind is far from food.

Heimdal said that I could be human again, and that the information was in the chapter that I haven't read yet due to extreme laziness that I'm now regretting. And that means Loki knew of this and didn't tell me.

He wanted to keep it from me, in fact. And this is the information that he hasn't been forthcoming about. I don't know how I feel about it yet, but my emotions will show themselves the more I think about it.

Regardless of these things, there's one thing I'm inevitably sure of.

That there's a toiling storm forming, and in the center are mine and Loki's lies.

Dinner is in session, and that means The Room is empty, and _that_ means more time for reading notes. I walk slowly up to the room , tired and longing to lay down. I head down the hallway, and walk through the door. When I'm in the middle of the solid wood, I feel it. something is _wrong_.

Instead of being icy cold and clear, the matter is…sticky. Sticky and hungry, like I'm drowning in tar. It's as if it won't permit me full access. I stumble into the room with a _'sshhpop'_ sound from the door.

When I look to the center of the room, I realize why. Loki is sitting on the edge of the bed, and clearly not at dinner. He has the papers. _My_ papers that I hid in _my_ sofa.

I feel a breeze, that familiar cold snap tugging at my ankles and my shirt, forming it's cold grip on me. I slap at it, "Give those to me", I snap at him, cheeks growing hot.

He's completely silent, and he stands there holding my salvation in his fist, staring at me with eyes of ice.

"I thought I suggested you not get involved in this". By _this_ he means the book. The chapter and the truth.

The force snakes around my ankles and my arms, sloppily around my head, mussing my black mess of hair. "Hey! Loki cut this out! You've no right!" I squawk at him as the breeze menacingly tickles at my neck, reaching it's claws to my jaw.

I 'm trying to shake my head away from it, planning how to convince Loki to get off my ass, when I'm suddenly weightless, and then a sickening '_blam_' screams in my ears .

I shamble against the door and the breeze is snaking back to Loki, from whom it came. My spine is definitely in too much pain for me to move right now, and my head is spinning with blinding pain and confusion. When I feel the jagged unevenness behind me, I understand the cause.

The door is broken. The beautiful door with the hanging willow is cracked down the middle, where I was thrown against it. there's red where the trunk should smoothly climb.

I feel a chill on the back of my head, and it's soaked in blood. I just sit there against the door and raise my hands to grip my head in pain. "Loki, what the _fuck_".

He's standing now, and I'm eye level with his black pants and his fist holding my papers. I roll sloppily to my knees and try to stand, desperately wanting to grab what belongs to me. His cold hand rests on my forehead and pushes.

"_Stay down_", his voice is thin and horrible, shooting chills down my arms.

I make an undignified grunt when I hit the ground, and I sit trying to get to my feet again.

He's staring at me, but he doesn't see.

"Loki, this is ridiculous", I say lazily, and my head is so heavy, and my body just wants to drop. He sneers that old sneer at me and walks to the window. "But that's not true, Dear Keiran. We both know that rectitude is in order".

"Yes, you're right. Let's start with rectifying your _lies_", I spit and stumble up to my knees, "Why didn't you tell me I had a chance to be human?".

He snaps his head in my direction and his lip twitches into a disgusted sneer.

"Why? Because you are a simple human soul, and it is no matter to me if you remain that way forever. But the fact remains that _I alone_ summoned you, and _I alone_ control you. It is of no concern to you if I lie or not, I will do as I please. But for _you_, to feed me these disgusting tales is unforgivable" his eyes are wide and his lips now twist into a savage snarl.

His bared teeth are like knives all clashing in unison. There's a cold chill in the air around him, where he goes, and his hissing breaths are clouds in the dark room.

He's a feral creature, and no small thing could have brought him to this state. Where my lies really so surprising to him?

"Though we both fed each other tales, you where the _first_ storyteller. Loki. If you think we're not equal, if we don't all account for the same sins, then you really _are_ the fool I took you for in the beginning" I spit , and the pain throbs through me while cold blood unnervingly trickles down my neck.

"And these are the speeches of a half existence from a measly life of ruin! You mewling _child_, you destructive mortal, born of a race who springs from the dirt upon my shoes! You have no conception of good or evil and the magic that makes them what they are. How dare you claim equality among a _god and a whisper of dust_" his fists shake and his knuckles tinge white, a blue light emanating from them.

"You are dirt, and you will blow where I command you. You are a foolish bitch if you think you are your own controller, when you would not be here if I had not summoned you"

"Loki, you are truly an arrogant piece of shit. You think you _own_ my undying soul? You were hardly able to summon it. It was just a chance, remember? The moment you saw me, you said you didn't even think it would work. It was never this big of a deal to you, and you led me to believe that you saw me as an equal, a _friend_ even" my voice wavers as I focus on him through the pain in my body . Leaning against the door smeared in blood, my teeth are bared and the storm is burning us both.

"You say I'm a mewling child, but all I see here is a tantrum of hurt pride and arrogance beyond anything I've ever seen. _You_ are the weakling here, Loki, because you've fallen apart so easily when your own lies and spite have come full circle and bitten you in the ass".

The boy I thought I knew is gone, now, and I don't know if I miss him. It never crosses my mind that I grew into something he never imagined I would be, or that if he never toyed with that strange necromancy, both our lives would be far more different. If this is the truth he tells me, I will trust what his rage tells me. Because that is the final truth.

A collection of twisting, cruel sounds tear at my ears, and I stare up to Loki.

And he is laughing as my blood seeps into the wooden tree

It's bleeding.


	17. A North wind binds the Storm part 2

He is trying to win a primitive battle of sins, and his weigh the heaviest. Far heavier now that they are pushed into the light. and I am the one who has drug the sun forward. We've demoted ourselves to childish lies and deceit, and it's as bitter as a lovers' first quarrel. I won't lose face, and Loki will not be questioned. There is a violent stalemate until one of us dares to reach the point of no return.

Loki laughs, and I'm sure only because it's at my expense. The whites of his eyes are gleaming and they are the only pure thing in this room. My teeth are bared and my lip quivers into a grimace as I kneel on the stone floor and try to stand.

Pale light pools outside of Loki's strange shadow and on the blood staining my hands. "If you had just _listened_ to me" he hisses, thin voice a rasp in the cold room.

I slowly stand, shaking badly and head spinning from the bash on my head, rising to face him. he may tower over me as I shake in pain, but my anger is far more sturdy than his insane rambling.

"If you feel I'm an insignificant simpleton, then why bear my presence all these months? What did you gain by lying to me?" I growl. His eyes smolder with anger as he spits, "It was _you_ who lied to _me_. I had nothing to gain, save for your trust that you forked over like a desperate girl. Do not be so conceited as to believe that I was keen for your kinmanship".

I stand there steadily as blood trickles down my neck and runs the length of my collar bone. He's torn all my rage from me like pulling teeth. Leaving behind only the dull ache of something missing. "Loki, you liar. You lie to you're friends and you lie to yourself to compensate. You're one sad, bitter story that I'm not going to sympathize with. You're a child, Loki, and that woman was right about you. You are no friend of mine, and i want nothing more to do with you".

I see a flash in his emerald eyes, and it seems for a moment, that he might charge me. "You've brought this upon yourself" his voice is empty of poise, of intelligent insults. Only anger and the bitterness that spite drives one to achieve, on his tongue and in his heart. Black hair a mess, flung in his wide eyes, and a white glow growing rapidly in his hands.

Dark smoke breezes towards me, burning my eyes. And I instantly know what it is.

"Loki, _NO_" I push myself forward, trying to grab my papers and my only hope of humanity.

Loki _yes_. His hand bursts into blue flame as I grab at the papers, tearing them in half, and the rest twist and writhe in his grip until they are nothing but black ashes.

I let what's left flutter to the cold stone beneath our feet and stare at the ruined parchment. My gaze travels from his white fingers, cobalt flame snaking back to turn into blue veins along his wrist. The ghosts of smiles are chased out by the grim snarl on his lips. I stare at him for a moment, disbelieving, then stumble forward and lunge at him.

"You bastard, you horrible excuse for a man, how could you-". I'm cut off by a blast of light to my chest, knocking my breath away. I lay winded on the floor, staring blankly to the ceiling.

He stands above me as ashes float down from his blackened hand. Everything is truly wasted now, and he's taken it all. Drank every last drop from my will, and my hope.

I roll over to get up, and feel his boot on my shoulder, pressing me down. The weight works with the exhaustion in my body, trying to push me under. "I said _stay down_" he snarls. My vision blurs as my head throbs, and I realize the scar on my hand has somehow reopened . It stains red along the stone floor.

I reach under my collar for the string around my neck. The little glass vial that I've held since the night Algrim helped me in my plight of understanding. I grip it tight in my blood soaked fist and remember his words.

_"Should any harm befall you, use this. It is pure starlight, bottled and tamed by the magic of my people. You must not waste this, it is valuable and very rare. And horribly dangerous"._

The little glass thrums with wispy light as it grows warm in my hand. quickly pulling the stopper, I throw the vial at him as hard as I can. His blank face is temporarily lit in a brilliant white light, before he shields his eyes and turns from it.

And a terrible flash lights the whole room for seconds, then disappears. I turn to run for the door, and I'm not coming back. Not to Loki, who's gone mad with shattered pride, but to Algrim, who can undoubtedly help me.

I slam against the cracked wood that I was meant to go through, and take a couple heavy steps back. Oh, and I should've known. The containment spell. I'm sure my forehead is going to bruise, but that's nothing compared to what I suspect is a concussion on the back of my head.

There's nothing to do but turn around, to where I'm sure Loki is lying dead on the ground.

Burnt to ashes by the light like my papers where in his hand.


End file.
